With a Single Spark
by Aishata
Summary: For want of a nail. When Alibaba is forced into being involved with the murder of Kassim's father, his ideals are compromised and his goals are challenged. All the while, the gears of the world moves towards embroilment, and the people await the song of war.


In this world, there was pain.

It was a lesson Alibaba knew very well. Yes, with optimism and idealism he carried himself, however, he was neither ignorant nor stupid about the world he lived in. Far from it, in fact, his mother was a prostitute and on bad days, her customers were not gentle with her. The slums were also not conductive towards those with naivety; its lessons beat the spirit of ruthlessness and cunning into his core.

However, if Alibaba were to be considered ruthless and cunning, the entity of Kassim could only be described of that as a viper. Even as a child, he gave off the vibe of someone to be wary of. Compared to that of Alibaba who would be considered a saint by slum standards, Kassim was a devil.

In the eyes of bystanders, their relationship seemed very antagonistic. They never stopped fighting and never halted the relentless competitions. They would compete over flags, over who could carry the most, over petty everyday things. But if one was to look very closely, there was a hint of comradeship between the two despite their very different backgrounds.

This was reflected in their guardians.

In contrast to Alibaba's mother, Kassim's father was scum, a drunkard fiend. He provided the minimum commodities necessary for his children's survival, while sending them on "errands" that were in truth dangerous jobs that came with no small amount of pain. It was what supported his drinking habit after all, and what led to Kassim's disappearance for long periods of time.

This, of course, naturally worried Alibaba so much that he would spend hours looking for him. Sometimes, even his mother would ask around, but the slums were a large place, and it was hard to locate the abode of one small child.

It was by bad luck that Alibaba stumbled upon Kassim's home.

At the time, Alibaba didn't know Mariam all that well. Even in the slums where people were forced to band together, children still segregated themselves into boys and girls, splitting off into social activities restricted towards gender.

Regardless of whether or not that girl was Kassim's father or not, when Alibaba came across the scene, he could only stare transfixed at the sight of a grown man mercilessly "disciplining" a sobbing girl. His hands dealt heavy blows, the sight of smacking made Alibaba wince despite how far away he was. Tables and chairs were flung away in the girl's desperate attempt to flee, but she was grasped by her father's large, meaty hand and dragged screaming into a room deeper in the house.

Higher-pitched, more frantic, louder screeches were heard. There was begging, pleading, cries for help.

Alibaba's heart thronged against his chest. Most other people in the slum would have walked away by now. It was not their problem after all, such things were common-place and they had mouths to feed.

But not Alibaba. Not kind, optimistic Alibaba.

He stayed behind, worried about the fate of a girl who was a stranger to him.

….

By the time he got back to the little girl's house, it was already dark. His mother had been worried about his appetite, but in truth he had been saving up food. Rolls of bread were bunched against the underside of his shirt; it was really all he could afford.

The eerie environment made him paranoid. Crickets chirped, barely louder than the thumping of his heart. His footsteps were as quiet as he could make them despite the dirt floor; he carefully maneuvered himself around the house, looking for the little girl's room.

According to his personal experiences, most hovels in the slums were structurally similar. A traveler from long ago had introduced the revolutionary idea of building homes with nothing but sheet metal and dried mud, and those of low-stature found themselves replicating the idea.

If he was right, he would be able to provide at least a little help.

A whisper.

"Gah!" Alibaba exclaimed, nearly dropping his food.

He whirled around, ready to flee at any moment-

"…hn…"

-and looked down, a girl with black frilly hair coming into his visage. He forced himself not to wince at the sight.

Her face was bruised, her lips cracked, one eye pressed shut, crusted with black-blue pigmentation. She was lying on the floor on her stomach, her arms hugged across her body.

It wasn't often that Alibaba swore, but it was what he found himself doing. "Are you alright?" was also a very stupid question in hindsight; because there was no way the girl was in good shape.

But she had only one plea.

"I'm hungry…" she said, followed by a distinct growling sound that rang throughout the night's ambience.

Alibaba sweat-dropped and offered her bread rolls that he carried. It looked like his assumption was right, but him being right wasn't something to be smug about in this case. The entire time he was there, the golden-haired boy frowned and expressed his stress through clenched fists. This was the feeling that he hated: feeling completely helpless, and in reality there really wasn't much he could do.

It was hard for him to sleep that night, what with such thoughts whirling throughout his mind.


End file.
